


Your Reality

by sneezebag



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Damn, Drunk Tyrion Lannister, F/M, He just wanna vibe, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Tyrion Lannister, Tyrion Lannister Deserves Better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29469975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneezebag/pseuds/sneezebag
Summary: He just wished to get drunk in peace after all that's happened.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Your Reality

**Author's Note:**

> I have drafts on a circus sansan, a full fledged plot outline sequel for the hurt is gone, modern au sansan where robert didn't bust a nerve when he doesn't get lyanna, a sansan based on local literature and i even promised on my twitter I'd share the tale of my trainwreck college romance in the form of braime. Brain said fuck all that, do another outsider pov on sansan. Here it is.
> 
> Disclaimer: I think the fact that we're here just indulging ourselves to works of art we don't monetize is because we don't own any rights to monetize in the first place, yeah?
> 
> Also please just blame Tyrion (and Sandor) being drunk to his OOCness. We're all aware of functional alcoholism but bear with me for a bit.

Be as it may that they've grown up in curiosity and later contempt for each other, now that the Battle for the Dawn is over and done, there is a quiet and comfortable silence between him and this man who used to be in service of his family but dared to leave it all in the midst of the Battle of Blackwater. 

Sandor has always hated him with his inclinations of fire and dragons, but after all that's happened he thinks of him not entirely cowardly for leaving a life he's built for himself and known from before he was nearly a man. He'd not allow himself to be consumed by the horrors of that day. 

It could also be that he wasn't noticed at all in the first place what with all the snow, weirwood and rubble. The man he's more than several paces away from seems to be deep in his thoughts and his cups. He's been here first anyway, having had his fill of wenches and festivities too soon for his tastes. He's only nearly thirty, he can't be that old. 

He reminisces, for some reason. Back when they were boys, before Jaime had to kill Aerys, before his father thought to take away the only good thing in his life, how Jaime's easy demeanor somehow soothing Cersei's haughty words to anyone she thinks is beneath her, most of all him and her sworn shield. How they'd banter, try to duel one another, make fun of each other, when Sandor offered to lift him on his shoulders on a drunk dare and a thought voiced aloud, how they could've been brothers along with Jaime... 

No matter now. Gods, it's like he's in his final moments thinking of all that when the battle's already won. 

Before he'd half the mind to let Clegane know his whereabouts, a redheaded beauty daintily strides to the foot of the weirwood where Sandor is seated. That snaps him into attention, but lays motionless. 

Good eve to you, my lord, she greets him with an relaxed, genuine smile.  
Not a lord. I refused Dreadfort, remember? Can't stand to be lord of a place with who knows how many horrors that's been going on in there for as long as the Starks had been fighting with them. He snorts derisively. 

Well, you've survived Kingslanding for more than half your life, she piqued. You're very much aware of the horrors in there. 

He shifts, whether in resignation of being bested or something else, he mildly barks back. 

Well, I'll take the schemes and lies of the court than fearing for my life every single day. Our keep may not be as horrific as the Dreadfort, but no way I'll stay there with my brother who can do whatever the fuck he wants.

He pauses. There's pleasure to be had in Kingslanding as well. 

She giggles softly, amused for whatever reason as he can only wholeheartedly agree to what the man just said. 

Then why are you out here, not taking pleasure in a celebration of the realm's heroes?

Tyrion can faintly recognize she didn't say that to only fill the air. There's a genuine curiosity in Sansa on why the Hound is freezing his balls off when he could bask in the warm celebration of a hard earned victory. 

There's also genuine curiosity in Tyrion on why Sansa, of all people, would seek out a man who was part of her agony: her every day living a nightmare in Kingslanding as a pawn. 

Not to mention that he, like Tyrion, does not come close to the looks of the Knight of Flowers she was so fond of, or of Joffrey before he poisoned her life and then getting poisoned himself. 

If you're so disinclined to join a party thrown in your honor, what is it that you desire? She wonders aloud. 

Half daring, half hallucinating perhaps, the wine rasps.  
May it be that I desire for you to sit on my lap, sing me a sweet little song, and give me a kiss. Perhaps more. 

In that very moment all he sees is Sansa standing stock still in shock. You could've warned the lady, Clegane. 

Humiliated with the reaction but the daring his drunkenness afforded him did not leave, he barks out something resembling a laugh at her face.  
You asked what I want? Here it is. Why are you surprised? I've spoken to you like this ever since you were just a slip of a thing. 

Tyrion wonders how frightened the girl must've been to be laying witness to the Hound's temper. He'd been a different man when he saw him again, trying to force the Others from going past the Wall, but even today his ferocity burns bright.  
When Sansa said nothing to that, he continued without missing a beat. 

Ever since I met you, all I wanted,... I went to this buggering war knowing you'd be here. Fought for too much and had nothing to speak for it. You really think I came here... You think I came here to test my strength? To gain all I lost? I fought that war so I'd die knowing I did all I could to keep you safe. I stayed on, took the brunt of it trusting that one day you'd come and nurse me to health. I won that war so you'd look at me. 

Tyrion is in awe seeing Sandor heaving, choking back furious tears, thankful for the tension and the falling snow leaving him undetected to this moment. He hasn't seen him this upset since they first tried to get along.... 

Sansa stayed motionless, but her eyes grow dewy, a visible tremble appearing upon her lips. 

Clearly not the reaction he intended, he grasps straws.  
Best believe, that when I offered to take you away, I wasn't really intending to bring you to your family. When I tried to bring your sister back to your mother and brother at the Twins, when I tried to bring her to your aunt in the Eyrie... 

The haze of his cups was gone, Tyrion guessed that what kept him going is the despair of Sansa being clearly disgusted by his shameful secret, and trying to control the damage of his carelessness. And to think that Sandor had just said he'd take her away. Drunk, bloody, agitated, exhausted, anguished, he can recall how he looked when he left it all behind. The way his temper and scars are bad enough, and you're convinced she'd just join you in your song? 

You don't look any better than me, Sandor. If you had known how she was the one who stiffened in our wedding night and not his cock, perhaps you've not made a hopeless fool of yourself... 

She breaks her silence, fat tears flowing down her high, rosy cheeks, And you tell me this now - why? She softly hisses. 

He looks her in the eye, breathing deeply, I only meant to take what I want. If you decide to have me help build back the Wall or put my head to the block, that's on you. If I ever really have the right to be happy, I might as well try and finally reach you. How then, when you haven't forgiven me for what I did? Well, if you're not here to get warm with me, you best go-

As he was cut short, both Tyrion and Sandor are startled at Sansa, throwing herself onto Sandor’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck like she's hanging on for dear life. 

She cups his face, delightful and eager to spill her own secrets, I was at the Eyrie! She exclaims. How had you not come sooner? 

Sandor, now unguarded, bewildered and eyes filling with hope and awe, Little bird,... He can only manage, with his arms and hands slowing wrapping her hips and waist. 

Tyrion can no longer follow Sansa's excited whispers as Sandor held her, whose face was growing even more relieved and hopeful every passing moment. If only he could move closer without getting caught... 

Sansa's lips and the world seemed to have stopped apart from the soft falling of snow, then she kissed him. Deeply. 

By the Seven, he only intended to ponder about the future and drink in peace, not be an unwilling audience to his wife who clearly loved another man and finally in the embrace of the man of her dreams.

As he lays witness to his wife and another man seemingly eating each other's face, the cogs start to click in place. The only person bothering to cover her when Joff had her stripped, the only person risking his neck for the Lannister's most valuable yet mistreated bargaining chip in the bread riots, the way he bothered to put on the Kingsguard cloak - with a jeweled brooch no less...  
He had no idea Sandor had it in him to be that romantic. 

Tyrion suddenly felt warm, certain that it is jealousy. He tries to find the rage in himself, that a woman wed to him had denied him but throws herself in the arms of another monster of a man, but all he could muster was confusion at how he had never seen this coming at all, and wonder that Sansa Stark, lover of all things sweet and beautiful and kind could ever show such tenderness to Sandor Clegane. 

He stays in his place, not making his presence known to the pair clearly moving to somewhere they'd be comfortable, feeling entirely warm. Is it the Arbor red he's been taking sips of during the whole ordeal? The revelation that the Lady of Winterfell preferred a different type of hideous? Or is he begrudgingly pleased that even with all their differences the man he grew up with, he had found a love of his own?

Speaking of the future, the prospects are highly fickle. No way the lords of the North or Sansa's family would allow for her to be with him openly. Nevertheless, it looks like Arys isn't the only Kingsguard to win the heart of a princess. Myrcella certainly didn't need that other ear to still be sharp. 

Sandor and Sansa... Hmm, how quaint. 

Perhaps on the morrow while they broke fast he'd regale them with Arys' conquests and his own stories about good times with his old wife. Probably bring up the annulment of an unconsummated marriage, unless Littlefinger beat him to it. 

He will have to see what the future holds, now that the Night is over and the realm can start over.

**Author's Note:**

> Henlo i hoped you enjoyed. Please let me know how you feel in the comments if you wanna


End file.
